


Host

by elementalv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Missing POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she heard anyone call her by her real name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Host

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she heard anyone call her by her real name, and in some ways, that’s a blessing. It means she can pretend she doesn’t really exist, pretend that she doesn’t have friends and family back in — in — somewhere that isn’t here — people who are wondering what happened to her, pretend that the things she sees on a daily basis aren’t really happening. She can pretend that it isn’t her feet kicking a dog near to death before walking off and leaving it in agony, that it isn’t her mouth grinning wide at the sight of a blood-splashed room, that it isn’t her hands reaching into some stranger’s chest to pull out his beating heart as he begs for mercy.

Without a name, it doesn’t matter that she hears constant screams, that she hears whispers of Satan walking the earth, that she hears the baying of hellhounds and that some other thing finds great joy in the noise. Without a name, it doesn’t matter that she hears a litany of filth coming from her own mouth, that she hears what can only be described as blasphemy of the rankest kind, that she hears others rejoicing in the downfall of Heaven. Without a name, it doesn’t matter that the _thing_ residing in her head takes every opportunity to tell her that this is the tip of the iceberg — wait until she gets to Hell for real, then she’ll know how bad things can really get. She shudders away whenever the _thing_ tells her that, and she retreats to yet another hiding place.

Her name is a deliberate mystery these days, and that’s fine, because she doesn’t need a name to dream of being somewhere glittering and filled with nothing but beauty and glamour and excitement. In her dream, people are kind to her and speak softly. There’s light and grace and warmth, there’s a soft glow of happiness, and there’s a feeling of absolute safety. The people in her dream treat her with care, and they treat her like she matters, like she has value beyond a body in which to shove a soul or some other _thing_.

This dream is the only thing keeping her marginally sane these days, and she wouldn’t even have that if it hadn’t been for a spark some time ago. She doesn’t know how long ago it was — she thinks decades, sometimes, years or months at other times — but she remembers that spark of pure, clean light reaching out for her, trying to grab hold of her and pull her from her hiding place. She tried to reach out for it, tried so, _so_ hard, but it was only a moment, and then it faded quickly. The _thing_ laughed long and hard about it, teasing her with cruel words about lost hope and lambs led to slaughter on a rack. It didn’t matter, though, she clung to that hope and polished it up as best she could. It wasn’t much, but it gave her something to hang on to, something that wasn’t the endless nightmare her life had become.

She hasn’t thought about that spark of light in a long time, not specifically, anyway, so it scares the hell out of her when it shows up again, suddenly and without warning, brighter and stronger than she could ever imagine it —

 _Castiel_ , it says, _I am Castiel_.

It seems to be waiting for a response, and eventually she says, _I — I’m no one._

 _You are Karen Lee Auerbach_ , it says, _beloved daughter of Harold James Auerbach and Amanda June Cooper._

If she could, Karen would weep and fight Castiel, because she’s spent a very long time trying to forget who she is, and now she’s been given back her identity, but for what?

It continues, _You are known to Heaven, Karen Lee Auerbach, and an — an angel weeps for you._

 _That’s it?_ she asks, bitterness welling up. _Just one?_

 _Depending on the angel, one is all it takes._ It brightens up even further, and the _thing_ retreats in confusion and lust, apparently not noticing that Castiel is having a conversation with her. _I cannot release you here and now_ , it says, regret showing up as a shard of pale, dull blue, _but I can loosen the bonds that tie you to this vessel._

 _What — what does that mean?_

 _There will come a time when you are able to fly free. In that moment, a Reaper will come and take you to the Fields of the Lord._

She cringes away. _It — that_ thing _said I was going straight to Hell, and that it would take me there._

 _Demons lie_ , Castiel tells her. _I must go now._

 _Wait. What do I do? How do I leave?_

 _When the time comes, you will know_ , Castiel says.

The light brightens, and Karen feels a benediction of infinite love and forgiveness, even as she hears the _thing_ use her voice to say, “I feel so — clean.”


End file.
